


Just a cup of coffee

by bioloyg



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Coffee, Confused Bucky Barnes, Hate Sex, Kissing, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Sort of? - Freeform, Winter Falcon, as in - I made it alternate but not quite an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioloyg/pseuds/bioloyg
Summary: Despite the glass separating them, and the fear that’s rendered Bucky mute, there’s quite an intense conversation that progresses the longer they look at one another. Bucky’s eyes plea for peace and isolation, and Sam’s – they say okay. Sam finishes his sip of whatever the hell is in his cup and just looks away. Maybe that’s why Bucky goes inside anyway.





	Just a cup of coffee

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me @zamnwilson, you might remember the beginning of this fic because I posted it on some lovely art that you can find [here](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com/post/161079021010/11thsense-i-come-up-hard-baby-but-now-im-fine). If you haven't then you should definitely click this link and look at the art (by @11thsense), because not only is it amazing, it made me want to write an entire story that I, unfortunately, whittled down into this tiny little fic.
> 
> Unbeta'd!

It’s midday. Bucky can tell by the way the sun is positioned in the sky. He stopped caring about what minute of what hour of what day it was right around the sixteenth time they thawed him out. All that matters now is approximation. Bucky is _approximately_ one mile from that coffee shop he likes, the sun is _approximately_ halfway across the sky, and he feels okay today – approximately of course. Everything is an almost, a maybe, an estimation. Secure but never guaranteed.

Bucky takes a deep breath and looks up into the sky looking for – heh, y’know what, he’s not sure what he’s looking for. What he’s met with is a slightly overcast sky. The sun seems to play hide and seek amidst the clouds, though it’s not very good at hiding. Bucky can relate. He’s a bit of an eyesore, especially with that shining metallic arm.

Maybe that’s how Sam finds him.

All Bucky knows is that he’s the one that gravitates to Sam. He’s just walking past the windows to the coffee shop when something catches his eyes. The bright white coffee cup, the relaxed position its holder has taken. Someone unpleasantly familiar.

But Sam’s eyes don’t widen, he doesn’t jump out of his seat and rush out the door toward Bucky, and he doesn’t beckon Bucky closer. He just drinks from his cup, slow and steady, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

Despite the glass separating them, and the fear that’s rendered Bucky mute, there’s quite an intense conversation that progresses the longer they look at one another. Bucky’s eyes plea for peace and isolation, and Sam’s – they say okay. Sam finishes his sip of whatever the hell is in his cup and just looks away. Maybe that’s why Bucky goes inside anyway.

_*A small bell rings as the front door is pushed open_ _*_

“You’re a hard one to keep up with,” Sam says, nonchalant, as Bucky sits down across from him. He takes another sip of his drink then flags down the waitress when she gets near enough and politely asks for a pot of coffee for the table.

Bucky lets out a deep breath and pushes his backpack to the side of the booth. He makes sure to keep an eye on the door and his feet on the ground, ready to run at all times. “You’re a hard one to shake.”

A dry laugh passes Sam’s lips, something subtle that makes Bucky feel like they’re discussing politics over coffee again instead of this game of cat and mouse Bucky started. What’s most odd about the situation is that Bucky is the mouse.

“There are better people to be worried about than me.” Sam gently turns his cup in a circle with his fingers, keeps himself busy.

Bucky clicks his metal fingers against the table at a steady tempo. “Are there?”

Sam looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. I’m only human.”

“Some of the worst ones are.” Bucky drags the coffee pot towards himself and pours himself a cup. After a lengthy sip he asks, “Why are you here Sam?”

“Could ask you the same question.” Sam returns.

“You know why I’m here.”

“But you didn’t have to come inside,” Sam says peaceably. “You chose to.”

Bucky sets his cup down and leans back in his booth. He takes a look out the window and catches the clouds turning a murky grey. “Figured I owed you an explanation.”

“For what?” Sam asks, like he doesn’t know. He’s good at playing dumb, something Bucky has learned the hard way.

“For leaving that night.”

All of Sam’s idle and thoughtless movements halt at the same time, and then he scrunches the napkin in his left hand. “I don’t need one. S’not what I’m here for anyway.”

“It isn’t?” Bucky asks. “Can’t see any other reason you’d still be following me. I told you I’m not coming back.”

Sam laughs and pushes his cup away, like he’s been put off by it. “I don’t care if you come back. What happened that night –” he looks away and clears his throat. “– None of that matters. I think we can both agree it was a mistake. You made that more than clear when you left.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and turns back to Sam. “Look –”

“No,” Sam interrupts. “ _Listen_. I don’t care what you do. I don’t care if you fall off the face of the earth and die, I don’t care if you become a sheep herder in Iceland, I don’t even care if you get captured. But _Steve_ does.”

Sam readjusts himself in his seat, crossing his arms once he’s finished. It kind of makes him look like an angry teen, but it also highlights how strong he really is, how thick and muscular his arms are. Bucky had almost forgotten. Sam hides it in the way he stands, in the clothes he wears, but he’s strong enough to keep up. No doubt about it.

Sam pulls Bucky’s attention back upward, saying, “The least you could do is speak to him. He’s in a new time period full of new people and new things. He thought he lost everything.”

“Steve has you.”

“There are no substitutions in friendship. You and I stand for different things in his life. I can’t play the part of James Buchanan Barnes, I can only be me.” Sam graciously takes the check the waitress brings him, counts out exact change, and then leaves a tip underneath the plastic tray.

With the pen the waitress left on the table, Sam takes the nearest napkin and scribbles something down. He pushes the napkin towards Bucky as he stands up. “If you change your mind you know where to find me.”

“And if I don’t?”

Sam stops at the door with a sigh, but he doesn’t quite turn toward Bucky when he answers. “Then I guess I’ll see you next time.”

**Greece – One Year Ago.**

Bucky’s not sure how he ended up here. With Sam in his arms like this, that is.

One minute they were fighting, Sam keeping up – much to Bucky’s frustration – and dodging Bucky’s hits like he’d trained specifically for this moment, and the next they were… Well, they’re here. They’ve obviously got some things they need to work out, both on their own and with each other, but Bucky didn’t exactly foresee it happening this way. He definitely didn’t expect to feel so strongly about it either but then again, he’s learning all sorts of new things about himself nowadays.

“ _Ah_ ,” Sam hisses as Bucky runs his hand over a fresh scrape from their early spat. It doesn’t exactly slow Bucky though, if anything it prompts him to see what other noises he can get out of Sam. And with Sam against the wall, he does as he pleases, measuring every hitch and every shiver like a cartographer making a map.

“Stop moving,” Bucky orders, voice low and promising. He drags his lips up Sam’s neck before whispering, “And stop following me.”

Sam flexes against Bucky’s grasp in an attempt to move, but Bucky just tightens his grip. “Maybe if you were better at hiding I wouldn’t be such a problem for you.”

“You’re annoyingly persistent,” Bucky says just before he bites Sam’s neck. He smiles and lets go when a muted sound escapes Sam. “And you have an unfair advantage.”

“Do not,” Sam grunts as he breaks free of Bucky’s hold.

They end up on the floor somehow, but Bucky manages to find his way on top again. “You have more resources at your disposal.”

“So what? You’re faster.”

Bucky leans forward and smirks. “I can go slow if you want.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Then why’d you kiss me?”

“I –”

“Exactly,” Bucky finishes when Sam hesitates. He falls forward the final few inches and brings his lips to Sam’s, not quite kissing him yet. “Now tell me, Sam – just how strong are you?”

**Present Day**

Bucky wakes up from his little dream with a start. This isn’t the first time he’s had a dream about Sam nor will it be the last, considering all the unknowns surrounding the situation. They’ve got unfinished business, and it’s that very same unfinished business that has Bucky grabbing the napkin from his bedside table in his shitty hotel.

The cypher leads to a small, backroads motel; room 6. Bucky hasn’t knocked on the door yet and as such he could easily leave, but…

_God._

His skin is itchy. Has been ever since he and Sam kissed in Greece. It’s like a fire got lit beneath Bucky’s skin, and it’s the kind of thing that only stops burning when he gets close to Sam – either in thought or reality. It’s a self-made itch, one that Bucky is sure Sam doesn’t suffer from, and that’s what makes him hesitate. But – it’s also the reason he knocks.

No sooner does Sam open the door Bucky wedges his way in and shuts the door behind himself promptly. Before Sam can even get a word out Bucky throws his bag to the side and says, “Tell me the truth. Do you really not care?”

Sam scrunches his eyebrows. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I never said I regretted what happened in Greece,” Bucky says in a rush.

“I –” Sam looks down at Bucky’s bag in confusion and then back up. “Is that what you’re here for right now? _This_ conversation?”

Bucky takes a step forward. “What if I am?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Sam grumbles to himself. “I – that happened a year ago.”

“So you don’t think about it at all?”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes and his eyebrows fall flat. He shakes his head in irritation and looks away. “What difference does it make?”

“Not even once?” Bucky asks as he gets closer. “You don’t care what happens to me and you regret Greece, one-hundred percent.”

“Bucky,” Sam says, exasperated but quiet.

“ _Sam_.”

Sam looks away. “Are you coming back or not?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

Bucky gets even closer, prompting Sam to look at him once more with his thumb. “You told me to find you if I changed my mind.”

Sam shivers ever so slightly as Bucky slides his thumb across his bottom lip. “This isn’t what I meant.”

Bucky brushes their lips together now. “Then tell me you don’t care.”

“ _Bucky._ ” Sam’s eyes flutter closed.

“Tell me,” Bucky whispers, and when Sam doesn’t answer he seals the space between them with a kiss. Something slow and languid.

Sam doesn’t hesitate to kiss Bucky back like he means it, but still he says, “I hate you.” He says it any time they part, and the only time he doesn’t is when Bucky opens him up. Then it’s, “I hate you so fucking much,” through clenched teeth as Sam desperately tries to ignore pleasure in favor of bitterness.

But when Bucky goes slow, when Bucky slides into him in one gentle thrust, when the hair pulling turns to grasping and the bites turn into warm kisses? Bucky says it instead.

“I hate you,” he says as he fucks up into Sam. And Bucky means it. Means it with every fiber of his being. He hates the way Sam’s smile makes something in his core stir, hates the way he can’t get Sam out of his head, he even hates the way Sam moans beneath him. But most of all, he hates the way he kind of doesn’t hate Sam.

 Sam bares his neck to Bucky and he lets out a guttural noise when he’s bitten. It’s the kind of sound that gives Bucky goosebumps, and it fades into a blissed-out hum that Bucky chases. It’s sweet and tastes like the creamer laden coffee Sam must’ve been drinking earlier.

Their fingers intertwine above Sam’s head as Bucky continues to kiss Sam, his hips moving to some unsung tempo in his chest. That itch from earlier is still there though, and no matter how hard Bucky fucks Sam, or how hard Sam scratches him in return, he knows it’s not gonna go away this time.

Bucky takes his hands from Sam’s after a moment and lifts him up and into his lap. With his back pressed to the shitty motel headboard he takes Sam’s face in between his hands and kisses him again, harder now, more insistent. Something about it draws a muffled noise of agreement out of Sam, and with it the man’s hips begin to move against Bucky.

The pace quickens over time, but the tempo is lost. Order is gone. Kisses become sloppy and uncoordinated, and finally they’re not even kissing at all. They’re just breathing the same air, groaning when everything feels just right for a split second.

When Bucky can’t take it anymore he flips them onto the bed again, and while his thrusts are dramatically slower than the pace Sam kept, he goes deeper and harder, gets closer to Sam. He kisses him until the feeling swallows them both whole and sends Sam over the edge, making him pliant for a moment, and tense the next. With Sam wrapped around him so tight Bucky has no choice but to fall over the edge with him, and when he does a year’s worth of tension comes bursting out of the seams.

“You’re the worst,” Sam shudders in the aftermath. He rubs a hand over his face and groans. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Bucky says, his head resting on Sam’s chest. His ear is aligned with Sam’s heart; he can hear the steady tempo that belies Sam’s words. “I know you don’t.”

Sam huffs. “And how is that?”

“Because I don’t hate you either.” He lifts himself up and then pulls out of Sam. Both of them wince, and a cascade of bumps make their way across Sam’s skin.

“Yes you _do_ ,” Sam says as he runs his hands along Bucky’s biceps nervously.

“No,” Bucky says just before he kisses Sam again. Their tongues meet in a slow glide, tangling around each other, begging for more. “I don’t. Wish I did though.”

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“You’re right.” Bucky kisses Sam one more time, chaste. “But I did.”

“Wish you hadn’t.”

“No you don’t.”

Sam frowns. “It was just a cup of coffee.”

“Maybe,” Bucky sighs. “But it was enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr [@zamnwilson](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com)! And as always, thanks for reading <3


End file.
